The Day the Earth Hour Stood Still

Every year, without fail, we celebrate Earth Hour.

I say "without fail." In fact, we celebrate Earth Hour, almost inevitably, with some kind of failure. This year being no different to any other.

In order to be more comprehensive in our energy saving, this year we cut the power at the fuse box. The whole complex - Beaker Bazaar, Moot House, Great House, Doily Shed et al - plunged into darkness. Just the fridges left on.

And so we sat there in the Moot House, in the darkness. Letting the stillness of Husborne Crawley find its way to us, above the roar of the gas-burners we needed to keep warm with the roof open.

The theory was that we all sat there, letting the darkness and stillness seep into our souls - feeling ourselves at one with the Earth that we neglect and loot every other hour of the year, with our electric lights, television sets and computing devices. That we could look up through the open roof and see the wonders of creation, wheeling above us.

At least that was the theory. It was a shame about the clouds blotting out the heavens, of course. But a number of Beaker People had various astronomy apps on their smartphones, and spent a whole hour ooh-ing and aah-ing at what they would have seen on a clear night. While the remainder spent all their time, it turns out, tweeting to their very limited number of followers the events of the night.

Most of which events of the night were indeed provided by Burton. About twenty-five minutes in, and he stands up shouting "Badger! Badger! Badger!"

Well, the Beaker People don't like badgers. They're terrified of them. I try to tell them that they're just friendly old brocks, the last remaining decent-sized carnivores left to us from Merrie England. But they tell you that they can break your nose with one swipe of their wings. I tell them that's swans, and then they tell you they can break your back with a hug. I tell them that's the giant ant-eater, but they reckon that's close enough.

So needless to say, next thing we know there's Beaker Folk running in all directions - never a good idea when you're in a confined space in the dark, and the only lights available are the glow of 50 smartphones. It was all very confusing, and bruising. I managed to keep myself from being hurt using a secret and ancient art - also known as cover drives and swipes to cow-shot corner (let the Reader understand).

Not a badger

When too many people had run into walls, I managed to hit the emergency lighting button, and the truth was revealed. In amongst the battered and terrified Beaker Folk, we saw Rizzo, the Beaker Jack Russell. Now she's got a black and white face, sure enough. But under no circumstances could anyone mistake her for a badger. Well, OK - under one circumstance she could be. That being where an impressionable accountant caught a glimpse of her in the half-light of Earth Hour. He always gets over-excited at Earth Hour. Honestly, he's as bad at Christmas.

I'll be honest, I wasn't that impressed. Burton had kind of spoilt Earth Hour for all of us. I called a rapid end to festivities, and sent everyone off to be bandaged. 

Still, at least all was not totally wasted. Burton, full of remorse and the desire to make recompense, has very kindly gone off to make some emergency doilies. He may be some time.  I may let him come back into the Moot House some time after midnight. Alternatively, I may just slip a badger into the Doily Shed if I can find one.

Earth Hour Eve

The Beaker People have always taken Earth Hour seriously.

It's only two years since the combined Earth Hour / Tenebrae / Celtic Service when the invasion of Liturgical Dancers resulted in the Eternal Flame going out and the sprinklers going off.

Whereas last year we were invaded by aliens descended from Rod Stewart, asking us to switch off the laser light show.

Now we don't want that happening again. I know we'd been planning the fireworks and all the rest of it. But do I want a bunch of tousle-headed, tartan-wearing Londoner aliens turning up all shirty again this year? I don't think so.

This Earth Hour, we're just going to sit. Very quietly. In the dark. For an hour. Because that's going to save the world. Isn't it?

Earth Hour - A Message from the Future

Um. A bit embarrassing, this.

We were all set for Earth Hour. All the electric lights in the Community were switched off, of course - after all, that's what Earth House is all about. The oil-soaked-rag torches were all lit. Filling the grounds with hideous, acrid smoke, but definitely lit. Dozens of million-candlepower torches were switched on. Hundreds of solar garden lights were glowing with their soaked-up sunlight. The disco lights were dancing merrily away, powered by the shale-oil burning generator. We lit the bonfires and the citronella candles and the Wicker Men and  arranged the glow-worms tastefully on their mulberry leaves. Then we remembered that it's silk-worms that like mulberry, but frankly it was a bit too late to worry.

Leaving the grounds in a blaze of light, we entered the Moot House and flicked the Big Switch that withdrew the cover from the giant Floor of a Thousand Suns (which had been lit since Wednesday to get it warmed up). We'd opened the roof so we could see the night sky, but realised that in fact it was invisible due to the power of the lighting. We had to break out the welders' goggles from the last Eclipse to protect our eyes - and even then it was a bit bright. And the laser light-show cut in. And we lit the largest number of tea lights since the Night of a Thousand Tea Lights went so horribly wrong.

Now I'm not sure we weren't feeling a bit heady with the mercury content of all those environmentally-bulbs. And the light was so bright you could actually feel it. And the pressure of photons from the lights under our feet was so strong that I swear you felt like you were being lifted off the ground. But there we were,in our welders' goggles,  all ready to worship. Acutely aware that, for once, wearing hi-viz was not so much unnecessary as positively dangerous.

And do you know, we realised we'd forgotten to plan an Order of Worship? In all the excitement over the lighting, we'd forgotten all about actually having something to do. We'd not nominated the evening's worship leader. We'd no liturgy. No Enya CD lined up or even Peter Gabriel.  We'd got no worship focus, no pebbles, no twigs to contemplate, no beakers filled with water, no temple bells or gongs or sin-shredders or Play Doh or pipe-cleaners for modelling, no plastic toys for Oddly Play. Not even any yakuzas- nothing that you'd seriously describe as worship-related.

So I was just suggesting a quick game of "Mornington Crescent" (I really must explain the rules to Burton one day) when there was a knock at the door. And in walked the aliens.

I say "aliens". In fact they were humans from the M36 Cluster in Auriga, from 4,100 years in the future. They said they'd time travelled back to tell us to turn that bloody light off. Apparently they're big fans of  "Push the Button" and we'd blotted out their reception.

They also told us that it's all the petroleum and coal in our lithosphere that's preventing our civilisation from progressing, and advised us that the best bet is to burn it all as soon as possible. This may be genuine wisdom from the future. Or it may be a joke. So don't take my word on it.

Funny thing about the humans from the future. Obviously, 4,100 year is long enough for a certain amount of genetic selection to have taken place. And it's the genes of the most prolific breeders that survive. So oddly enough they all looked like Rod Stewart.

Anyway, we agreed to switch the lights off (they told us that having low-energy lights which can't use dimmer switches is terribly primitive). Although when we'd switched the lights off, strangely we were left with the image of Al Gore burnt into the retinas. Odd.

Anyway, the Rods got back into their Wolseley Wormhole GTi  and went back whence they came.  Unfortunately on the way in, they'd knocked all that magnesium ribbon into Hnaef's potassium permanganate store. And the sparks out of the back of their time-machine kicked a reaction off as they left. Which spread to the magnesium car block. And the magnesium car panels. And the doily dust in the magnesium-roofed shed. And caused a truly wondrous light.  Which was very bright indeed. So bright that I have received calls from people in Ampthill, who believe the Second Coming took place this evening.

So bright, in fact, that the space people returned about seven seconds before they left, scooped the whole mixture up into their portable black hole, and cleared off again. Thinking about it, I'm still trying to get my head round that one.

There are, my children, many frightening things in this universe. And many beautiful ones,  But I have seen the future.  And it's Rod.

Extra lighting

Funny thing, I've just walked past Hnaef nursing a black eye. And outside the Steward's Cottage where he and Daphne have their lodgings, there was a big pile of what appears to be some kind of disco lighting.

I've no idea what's going on, but Daphne has told me that I can use the lighting for tomorrow's Earth Hour celebrations. Though she said she was saving the pole that was propped up in the porch. Said it wouldn't be much use for what it was intended, but she had other ideas.

Earth Hour Approaches

Still determined that we're going to celebrate Earth Hour without any ill effects this year, we've spent today making torches. Not the massively over-powered ones that you buy in garages that you charge up from the mains. Oh no. As mentioned before, they're already sorted out. No, today we've been making some more traditional torches.

I say "more traditional". I picked up the cricket stumps as a job lot in 1989, knowing that there's always a time when these things come in handy. We wrapped some old rags that Daphne had found for us round the ends of them, and then soaked them in the oil that came out of Young Keith's car when he ran over that Yule Log at Christmas.

But then Hnaef came out of the Steward's Cottage, and asked if anyone had seen his dungarees. And the mystery of where the rags came from was explained. I have to agree with Daphne on this one - what's a grown man doing going round in dungarees?

Anyway, the torches are now standing in an old oil barrel all ready for next Saturday. And we've kicked off the shale-oil-powered generator to warm up the thousands of low-energy light bulbs in the Light of a Thousand Suns Floor. Now we just need to make sure we've got a few more lights. We don't want to be short.

The "Light of a Thousand Suns" Floor

This one's been in the planning stage for a while, but it was the approach of Earth Hour that gave us the impeteus to get it set up.

Sometimes in a bid to get back-handers of some kind, or show their ecological credentials, retailers sell low-energy light bulbs at 3 for 20p or other silly deals. We think it's great. We've been buying up thousands, ready for the day when the last proper bulbs are banned and the deals are all dropped. I'm reckoning that we'll corner the market. Obviously, we don't use them round the Great House. I don't trust their mercury content, and they're nasty for reading by. We've also been buying up hundreds of proper 100W bulbs from a pound shop in East Anglia, stored away ready for underground sales in the years to come.

But we've realised that we can use the dangerous, ineffective bulbs on Saturday at Earth Hour. After all, then we're going to be "green". So we've installed thousands and thousands of them under the new glass floor of the Moot House. It's gonna be such a great effect come Earth Hour. Of course, being Earth Hour, we can't use mains electric to power them. So we've brought in an oil-shale-powered generator.

And of course, being low-energy bulbs, they're going to take a while to produce their full light output. So we'll be switching it all on tomorrow morning. I reckon 4 days should be long enough for them to warm up properly.

Getting Ready for Earth Hour

Last year's Earth Hour was, to be honest, on the verge of being a bit of a success.

Athough there was a mixture of terror, soaking with water, bruise marks and lacerations - all accidental, of course - we did achieve a recreation of the Fall of the Roman Empire, so that's not bad.

But we did get back to the Great House to discover that Mabelline, as well as causing some nasty lumps and bumps, had over-enthused and switched off all the plugs. Including the ones for the freezers and the hydroponic system. That wasn't a great success for the lickle plants and the Earth in my opinion.

I'm not taking chances on worship in the dark this year. So we've bought some million candle-power torches and we're getting them all charged up now, while it's not a sin to use mains electricity for lighting.